Situated Next To You

We’re down and out, but never thru
With missed phone calls
And penciled in IOUs

On tests that balance out the day
To get out of bed
Can be a major mistake
For it puts the brakes

On fanciful dreams of yesterday’s you
When I stood under a hung moon
A hue of bloody blue

Thinking all I ever needed
Was the silhouette
Of your lovely exterior
To get thru

The bruises brought down
By time’s hands
And a mislaid plan
To get to your heart

It’s fallen apart

The Statue of Nonobservance

I’m the punchline to a poorly worded joke, broken down by the grandfather clock’s own hands. Unable to avoid the laughter, I tiptoe across rotten tomatoes towards the shiny pendulum swinging from right to left, its dyslexia biding me time before the next round of giggling disgrace. A jester chimes in. Something about falling from my rocker or rocking myself to sleep in disbelief of being the butt end of tonight’s sense of humor. Smearing some cement within my ears, I can hardly hear the unpleasantness, the taunts, and jeers. Suddenly, a bright idea comes to me: to leave behind my own piece of mind. Turning my back, I proclaim, “It’s all Greek to me!” as my warship alights across the sea of stone-cold hecklers.